All that's best of dark and bright
by MaryRoyale
Summary: The War is over, but Millicent Bulstrode's problems are just beginning. Not only do her parents expect her to repeat her interrupted 7th year... there's something they've been keeping from her. Submitted to the Random!AU Challenge in the HPFC. Creature!Fic Eventual HP/MB/DM
1. Heart-ache and Hemlock Sense

**Official Disclaimer: **The original characters of this story are the property of the J.K. Rowling. No infringement of pre-existing copyright is intended. It is my contention that this work of fan fiction is fair use under copyright law. No monies were received for receipt of this work.

**Official Groveling: **The beta reader for this chapter was the incomparable Auntie_L. (She is unbelievably patient with me.) Any remaining mistakes are, of course, mine.

_A/N: Occasionally, I suffer from bouts of delirium during which I do things that I normally would not do. Apparently I signed up for a Random!AU competition, and I got "Animal-transformation!AU". The challenge creator was generous in that it could be any sort of animal that we wanted including Creature!Fic. If you're familiar with my work you'll know that I like to twist things around so this is about Veelas. _

/\/\/\

_June 5__th__, 1997 Malfoy Manor_

"Well?" Voldemort asked coldly. Lucius steeled himself. He glanced at Narcissa and saw her almost imperceptible nod.

"Draco has received his inheritance," Lucius said with a quiet calm he did not feel.

"Excellent," Voldemort said with satisfaction. He paused and his red eyes narrowed on Narcissa thoughtfully. He turned back to Lucius. "And his mate?"

"He has not received any indications," Lucius said apologetically. "We believe that he or she may be outside of Great Britain, or too young to trigger anything."

"How disappointing," Voldemort said coldly. Lucius swallowed nervously at the tone in the Dark Lord's voice. He glanced at Narcissa and her eyes were wide, staring at him, willing him to not falter.

The Malfoys often went to France for the summer, so no one thought anything odd in their trip to the Continent. They searched all summer, attending several different Veela gatherings in a number of countries in an attempt to seek out Draco's mate. He hadn't received even the faintest flutter. His parents tried to be supportive, but he grew somewhat despondent as the summer wore on. He saw the looks in many eyes, the repulsion for the mark on his arm. Veela viewed things a bit differently from British pureblood society, and they had little tolerance for these foreign Veela who had willingly marked themselves with evil. He'd overheard several other young, unmated Veela muttering that if his mate were a witch or wizard he or she might not accept him because of the Mark. He worried about that, and after several horrific nightmares, he spoke to his parents about it.

"What if they're right? What if he or she won't have me?" Draco asked fretfully. Narcissa scoffed and stroked his hair.

"Who wouldn't have you, my darling?" Narcissa asked rhetorically. Lucius snorted.

"You would have to be formally rejected, Draco," Lucius said quietly. "You would know."

"But," the younger man turned beseeching grey eyes on his parents and his mother hugged him to her.

"We cannot say why your mate is hidden from us," she said at last. "Your father believes she may be too young. It may be Gabrielle Delacour. She is definitely young enough that it would not yet trigger any reaction in you. You must be patient, Draco. It might be better if she is too young. Now is not the best time for you to claim a mate."

"Your mother is right," Lucius said firmly. "We can only hope that this whole thing is over and done with by the time that she is ready for you."

"I hope you're right, Father," Draco said quietly.

/\/\/\/\/\

_May 1998 Bulstrode Manor_

"It's over," Quentin Bulstrode said quietly. His words filled the silence of the Bulstrode house, and Millicent stared at him with wide eyes.

"Over?" Camilla Bulstrode repeated hesitantly, glancing anxiously at Millicent. He nodded. She gave a shaky exhalation of breath that she hadn't realized she'd been holding and sat down.

"We need to stop the suppressants on Millie right away," Quentin continued and Millicent sat up sharply.

"Father," she said with a frown. He turned toward her in surprise, as though he hadn't realized she was there and paled as he realized his indiscretion. "What suppressants?"

Her mother sighed heavily and shook her head. "Millie, dear, we need to talk," her mother said with quiet firmness. Millie's frown deepened.

"About what?" She asked calmly.

Her mind was racing as she tried to determine what her parents were talking about. Why on earth would she be on _suppressants?_ She glanced down at her lap with a jaundiced eye. They certainly weren't appetite suppressants. She, like all of the Bulstrode women, was 'sturdy'. There were other, less kind names and she had heard them all at some point. She steadfastly ignored that and turned to her parents. Her father looked vaguely embarrassed and the tips of his ears were pink. Millicent blinked. She wasn't sure if she had ever seen her father even remotely unsettled, even during the war.

"You know that the Bulstrode family has, for the most part, remained neutral," her father began carefully. She didn't nod because there was no need, her father was merely repeating information that all of them held in common. "You joined the Inquisitorial Squad at my behest because it looked as though Voldemort might succeed. However, now he has been destroyed and we must reevaluate our family's position again."

"Voldemort is dead?" Millicent said sharply, turning her full attention to her father. He gave a short nod.

"We did not openly support Voldemort because his… goals… were not in accord with the Bulstrode family's goals," her father continued after a short pause to gather his thoughts. Millicent knew this as well. The Bulstrode family had been quietly and proudly pureblooded, but it had never been overly rabid about it. "That was why we encouraged your older brothers to take appointments overseas. It is also why we started dosing you with suppressants last year."

"Yes, but suppressants for _what_?" Millicent asked flatly.

"A creature inheritance," Camilla said coolly, eyeing her daughter carefully.

Millicent stiffened slightly, but she did not betray her surprise in any other way. Many pureblood families had creature inheritances, but she had not realized that the Bulstrode family was one of them. It was usually the older families like the Potters, the Malfoys or the Blacks. The Bulstrodes were considered a 'newer' family—as they were only able to trace their line back for ten generations. She racked her brain, imagining her family tree in her head and then she blinked.

"Mother?" She asked hesitantly. Camilla allowed herself a small smile.

"Yes, dear?" Her mother said pleasantly.

"It's through you, then?" She asked with a cautious carefulness. One did not simply ask outright if a person's family had creature blood. It was the height of rudeness, even if that person was one's mother. Her mother's smile widened slightly.

"I was a Prince, you know," Camilla said conversationally and took a delicate sip of her tea. Millicent stared at her mother, hoping to glean some kernel of knowledge from the curve of her brows or the angle of her pinky as she held her cup. The Princes were an older family, defunct now, and her mother had been one of the last. Her cousin had been Headmaster Snape's mother. Of course, Millicent had never dared to trade on her familial ties with her Head of House; Eileen had been disowned for marrying a Muggle and it would have been in poor taste to mention her to Professor Snape.

"Forgive me, Mother, but I fear that I do not see the connection," Millicent admitted uncertainly and flushed with embarrassment.

"No one remembers anymore because the Prince line is extant only through the female line, but we had an influx of French pureblood inter-marriages during that nasty revolution business the Muggles had," Camilla explained. Millicent remembered that fact from stories that her grandmother Bulstrode had told her. Several villages where both wizards and Muggles lived together harmoniously had been razed to the ground and the horrified wizarding families had fled to England. She frowned slightly and tossed her head. "I dare say that's where the Malfoys and the Blacks got their creature blood as well. A lot of the older French pureblood families had Veela blood."

"_Veela_ blood?" Millicent squeaked at her mother, her blue eyes wide. "But, Mother, I don't look anything like a Veela!"

"And what, pray tell, does a Veela look like?" Camilla asked a little coldly. Millicent waved her hand helplessly.

"Like Mrs. Zabini or Fleur Weasley," Millicent said, her voice rising with her agitation. "Veela are _not _supposed to be fat and dumpy!"

"Millicent Elizabeth Honouria Bulstrode! You are not fat or dumpy!" Camilla Bulstrode's voice rose in anger and two spots of color appeared on her pale cheeks.

"There is no set of physical characteristics that define Veela aside from their voices and their beauty," Quentin Bulstrode said firmly. "Your voice hasn't changed because we've been dosing you with suppressants, but you are a very pretty young witch."

"Father," Millicent said uncomfortably, flushing again, but this time her mother interrupted her.

"Millie, you _are_ a beautiful girl," Camilla said firmly. "You went through an awkward stage for a few years, many girls do, and you cannot seem to forget it."

"Mother, not a single boy at Hogwarts has ever asked me out. Not one," Millicent said flatly. "You are my parents and I'm sure, to you, I'm passably pretty, but the rest of the world does not agree with you."

"Daughter, I am going to tell you something and I want you to listen to me," Quentin Bulstrode said firmly, eyeing his daughter determinedly. "The one personality characteristic that all Veela share is their self-confidence, and I will tell you now that there is nothing in the world sexier than a confident witch."

"So it's not that I'm ugly that repels the boys, it's that I'm lacking in _self-confidence?"_ Millicent scoffed rudely. Her mother's lips tightened and she cast her eyes to the carpet. Millie realized that that was not well-done of her at all. Young pureblood ladies did not sass their parents. She could see a world-class grounding in her future with a spectacular loss of privileges. She could kiss having luncheon in Diagon Alley with Pansy good-bye.

"This really isn't something you can argue your way out of, Millicent," her father snapped. "You _are_ a Veela. We will take you off of the suppressants immediately and your body will have sorted itself out by the time you must go back to school."

"You're going to make me do my seventh year over again?" Millicent demanded, aghast. Her father's expression became even more forbidding.

"It is unthinkable and unacceptable that you not complete a proper seventh year of study with proper instruction and N.E.W.T. scores befitting your intelligence," Quentin said in a voice that brooked no argument.

Millicent sighed. "Yes, Father," she said quietly.

/\/\/\/\/\

A storm raged outside the Bulstrode estate, inside, Quentin and Camilla watched their only daughter anxiously and waited. She tossed and turned in her bed, her long, black hair stuck to her with sweat. Her brilliant blue eyes rolled in her head and she moaned fitfully. Camilla bit her lip and watched Millicent shake and twitch with the changes that her body was undergoing. Finally, when they thought they could bear her suffering no more, she stilled. Her eyes snapped open and she sat up sharply. Camilla sucked in her breath and stared at her daughter.

Millicent had never been skeletally thin like Fleur Delacour or like her school friend Pansy Parkinson, and Camilla had never understood why she would want to be. There was no law that stated that Veela must be willowy. Her daughter insisted that she was fat, but Camilla would say that she was voluptuous. Her only daughter had full breasts and full, curvy hips. It was impossible to tell through her shapeless school robes, but Millicent had a small waist and very round bum. Camilla had the same figure, and her husband had said more than once that it was a body made to drive men mad. Long, black hair fell in silky waves to her waist and her blue eyes seemed to be larger and a deeper shade of blue. Impossibly long, sooty lashes blinked in confusion. In short, Millicent Bulstrode was a beautiful young Veela.

"Mother?" Millicent's voice was hypnotic. Bell-like, well-modulated, and clear, it was the sort of voice that caused ships to crash on windswept rocks, which only made sense because Veela and Sirens were related.

"Can you turn down your allure, dear?" Camilla asked gently. Millicent's face screwed up as she concentrated and both of her parents sighed in relief as the allure receded. "Now, do you feel well enough to get up and move around?"

Years of dance lessons had ensured that Millicent had never been ungainly or ungraceful (except for that unfortunate awkward period when she'd begun puberty), but now she moved with a languorous grace that made every movement seem refined. Millicent could never be accused of being delicate—she was a little too well-padded for that, but she was definitely graceful. She felt nervous and jittery, but she assumed that that was completely normal. It wasn't every day that one came into one's creature inheritance, after all.

Her mother was watching her carefully, trying to ascertain whether or not everything had gone well. It had been incredibly dangerous to suppress Millicent's inheritance for so long, but the idea of Voldemort using her as a tool—or worse, as a play toy—made both parents ignore the risks and steel themselves to the task of protecting their only daughter. Both parents smiled at one another, relief evident on their faces.

"You don't appear to have taken any harm," Quentin said cautiously.

Millicent looked down at herself and repressed a sigh. She looked the same. She had sort of hoped that there might be an amazing transformation that would turn her into some sort of stunning beauty and she pushed down the swell of disappointment that filled her.

Throughout her school career at Hogwarts, Millicent Bulstrode had been made painfully aware that she was not one of the Pansy Parkinsons or Daphne Greengrasses of the world. She had overheard too many casually cruel comments to count. There was not a single boy in Slytherin who had ever looked at her with any interest. She wasn't even considered intelligent enough to beg for homework help, which stung a bit considering her grades were exemplary. Maybe she didn't do as well as Hermione Granger, but she certainly wasn't an academic slouch. One might wonder if there might be boys outside of Slytherin who were quietly interested in her, but she just knew there weren't. There was no unspoken rule that Slytherin girls could not date outside their House. Merlin knew that Pansy had dated several handsome Ravenclaw wizards and Daphne had, too. Tracy Davis had dated a Hufflepuff boy and no one had said a word. She sighed dejectedly and looked out at the storm that was raging outside.

Being a Veela was only going to make everything worse, she decided morosely. Veela had _mates_, and with her luck hers would reject her. Then she'd be doomed to pine to death. Wouldn't that just be too funny for words? Millicent Bulstrode, Veela reject. She shook her head impatiently. Why was she being so maudlin? Normally, Millicent's personal philosophy was reminiscent of the punk movement: _f- the world_. Not that she'd ever said that out loud — well-bred pureblooded young ladies did not use profanity if they knew what was good for them. She rubbed absently at her forehead and turned to her mother and father who were watching her carefully.

"I think I'm okay," Millicent said finally. Her mother frowned.

"How do you feel?" Her mother asked worriedly. Millicent frowned back at her.

"Honestly? I…I feel kind of a longing to belong. And a sort of melancholy," Millicent said slowly, her brows furrowing. Her mother nodded.

"That's normal, you'll get used to it," Camilla explained. "It's the desire for a mate. It doesn't go away, but you can learn to ignore it. I didn't find your father until five years after my inheritance."

"Five years?" Millicent asked curiously. Her parents nodded and exchanged a fond smile with one another. Millicent smiled at them. Her mother turned back to her.

"Yes," she said firmly. "And that's another thing, Millie. You'll need to be very careful because human males and some females will be drawn to you. Only the weak-willed ones, of course, but it's still enough to be irritating."

"Oh, Mother," Millicent said with a shake of her head and a self-deprecating chuckle. "I doubt that will be a problem for _me_."

/\/\/\/\/\

Millicent found a private compartment and sighed in relief. She flopped down onto the seat by the window and pulled out her book. Arithmancy always tripped her up, so she was always careful to devote extra studying time to it. Repeating her seventh year would certainly help her N.E.W.T. score in this subject. Her lips were pursed in concentration and she absently twined a lock of her hair around her finger. Selwyn's Theory of Inversion was making her cross-eyed and she was muttering under her breath, repeating the theorem so that it would stick with her.

Her compartment door slid open and she looked up, blinking. Hermione Granger stood there in the doorway for a moment, her Head Girl badge shining on her chest. She hesitated and then sighed and crossed the threshold. Millicent throttled the urge to roll her eyes and sigh heavily as Pansy Parkinson might have done. Such behaviour was unbecoming of a well-bred young lady and her mother would have pinched her black and blue if she'd caught her at it. Hermione Granger was the bane of her existence. Not through anything the girl herself had done. No, it was the principle of the thing. Hermione was pretty, smart, and a powerful witch. It was absolutely disgusting that one person should be so blessed when there were others who were woefully deficient in the blessings department.

"Do you mind if I sit here?" Hermione asked cautiously, her brown eyes wary. Millicent did not shrug, nor did she grunt. She gave one small nod, the one her mother said was for strangers and social inferiors.

"Please do," Millicent said politely and Hermione tilted her head to one side and studied her for a moment.

"Er, Bulstrode, isn't it?" Hermione asked cautiously, as though she might be mistaken, although after six years of shared classes, chances were she knew her name, even if they'd never socialised. Millicent nodded again.

"Granger, I believe?" She asked drily, quirking one brow. _As if the entire wizarding world didn't bloody know who _she_ was_. Hermione smiled hesitantly, but her eyes were still wary.

"Yes," she said simply.

The two witches sat in silence, Millicent struggling through the Theory of Inversion and Hermione buried deep in some book that appeared to be thicker than her arm. After some time, their door slid open again and Tracy Davis popped her head in. She glanced at Hermione Granger in surprise, but turned to Millicent. Tracy blinked in surprise and stared at her for a moment. Millicent frowned back at her. Really, what was wrong with the girl?

"Davis?" Millicent said, perhaps sharper than she meant to have done. Tracy shook her head slightly and made an apologetic sort of gesture.

"I beg your pardon, Bulstrode, but could I sit with you? Malfoy and Zabini are hogging one of the compartments and Parkinson and Greengrass are with them." Tracy said quietly. Tracy knew that Blaise had recently broken up with Tracy and inclined her head in the slightly deeper nod that was suitable for acquaintances and social equals.

"It would be my pleasure," Millicent said calmly, the polite phrases rolling off her tongue. Tracy's presence would guarantee that she wouldn't have to deal with Malfoy's set, which suited her just fine. Pansy was her friend, but she just wanted to be by herself at the moment. She and Davis were not close enough that the other girl would expect her to share confidences. The two chatted quietly about their summers and their family's current concerns.

"Mother and Father insisted that we go to Portugal this year," Davis was saying in a slightly bored tone. "We had to visit with Father's cousins and I was forced to go to several truly hideous balls so that I could meet all the eligible wizards in Portugal. Mother was not impressed. She told Father that after this year, we ought to go to Bulgaria and Germany."

"Did you go to any of the wizarding sites in Portugal?" Granger interjected curiously. Davis stared at her for a moment as though she'd grown an extra head.

"Er, no," Davis said faintly. Granger frowned.

"Well, why not?" Granger demanded. Millicent turned to look at her and then turned to look at Davis whose mouth was opening and closing in shock.

"Father was busy the entire time we were there," Davis said finally, even though it was none of Granger's business. "He was booked with back to back business meetings."

"Why not just go see them on your own, then?" Granger asked, that frown back in place. Millicent gave a small gasp of shock and Davis looked as though Granger had demanded that she dance down Diagon Alley in just her knickers. Just then the door slid open, revealing a tall, red-headed wizard. Weasley, Millicent told herself. He looked from the shocked and horrified faces of Millicent and Tracy Davis to Hermione's determined one and sighed.

"What did you just ask?" He asked with an exasperated fondness. Granger looked at him with a little frown.

"I just asked why they couldn't explore wizarding sites in Portugal by themselves if their family was busy whilst on holiday," Granger said sulkily. Weasley at least had the decency to look shocked and he shot an embarrassed glance at Millicent and Davis.

"Er, Hermione, they can't just do that," he tried to explain. She shook her head stubbornly.

"I don't see why not," Granger said irritably. Millicent glanced at Davis who was watching Hermione with fascination and suppressed a small sigh.

"Well-bred young witches do not go out without a proper escort," Millicent explained quietly. "Any witch who does is assumed to be meeting wizards for assignations of a clandestine nature."

"But that's ridiculous!" Granger protested. Millicent made a graceful gesture with her hand.

"It is the way things are," Davis said firmly, eyeing Granger warily. "One may protest, but one _does not_ go out without an escort."

"But, Ginny goes off and does things by herself!" Granger said with a triumphant expression. Ron flushed.

"Er, no, she doesn't, Hermione," Ron disagreed. Hermione sputtered helplessly. Just then, the door slid open again. Millicent started to wonder irritably if she oughtn't to have put a privacy charm on the damn thing. Luna Lovegood wandered in and bestowed a smile on all of them. Granger demanded Luna's opinion. The pale, blond witch blinked thoughtfully.

"Well, Hermione, properly brought up witches don't go about unescorted," Luna said slowly. Granger sputtered for another moment or two, but then she was silent. Millicent decided that the expression on her face was pensive. Lovegood visited for a few more minutes and then she left.

"Where's Harry?" Granger asked Weasley. He grimaced slightly.

"Reuniting with Ginny somewhere," he said, looking vaguely ill. "I'd rather not know the details if it's all the same to you."

"When I saw Potter, he was visiting with Longbottom, Thomas and Finnegan," Davis offered politely.

"Ginny said she was going to find him," Weasley said with a frown. Davis shrugged.

"I can only tell you what I saw," Davis said quietly. Granger frowned and looked at Weasley.

"We'd best go find him," she said firmly. He sighed, but nodded. The two Gryffindors hurried out of the compartment and Davis and Millicent both sighed heavily and leaned back against their seats. Then they looked at one another and laughed.

"Merlin, she's the most exhausting person I've ever met," Davis said with a slight smile toward Millicent. Millie nodded thoughtfully.

"One wonders how Weasley and Potter manage to keep up with her," Millicent observed mildly. Davis snickered.

/\/\/\/\/\

Defeating Voldemort and rebuilding the wizarding world was not quite as much fun as it might sound. In addition to all of that, Harry had been rather disgusted to come into his creature inheritance right while he was in the middle of trying to save the world. Veela timing sucked, in his opinion. The Potters had a tendency to throw a Veela every other generation, who knew? _He_ certainly hadn't.

Fleur had been impossibly smug about the whole thing, which just irritated him further. Apparently, his ability to withstand her allure was an indicator. Again, _who knew?_ Almost immediately he had felt a strange hollowness — a longing sensation in his chest. Fleur had carefully explained that that sensation was his desire for his mate. It was common to all unmated Veela and it was something one could learn to ignore with a little practice.

When she found him on the train, Ginny had practically flung herself on him and rubbed herself on his body. The irritated expression on his face and lackluster reaction to her behaviour meant that she was definitely not his mate. Ron hadn't really said much, but Harry had the feeling that this whole thing might turn out a lot like his fourth year. Fleur had carefully explained how he would know when his mate was near.

Ginny had had been rather vocally upset about not being Harry's mate, insisting that he could 'choose' her. Fleur explained baldly that that was not possible, but Ginny continued to attack Harry at random moments. It was disturbing on a multitude of levels because Molly and Ron didn't seem to discourage her from jumping out at him, and her touch was beginning to make his skin crawl — so much so that Fleur and Bill had invited him to their home for the last few weeks of August. He had asked Fleur to teach him about mates, how to search for whoever it was, and how to know for sure he'd found his true mate. She had positively smirked at him then and he'd squirmed uncomfortably in his chair.

"You will know," she had said enigmatically. Harry had frowned darkly at her.

"Yeah, but how?" He'd demanded. She had shaken her long, blonde hair at him.

"It is difficult to describe, Harry," she had said cautiously and bit her lip. "Some Veela have dreams, some smell a scent, or skin to skin contact. I am not sure which it will be for you. Have you had any feelings that you could not identify? Oh, zut, this is hard to say! I mean, do you have feelings that do not seem to be yours?"

"I don't think so," Harry said hesitantly. Bill smiled at him encouragingly.

"It'll happen when it happens, Harry," the older man said soothingly. "Try to relax and maybe he or she will just fall into your lap."

"_He or she?"_ Harry echoed, frowning. Bill and Fleur exchanged a glance and turned back to him.

"Well, yes," Fleur said slowly, trying to enunciate as carefully as possible. "Your Veela's mate is not based on external factors like gender or appearance. It is, comment dit-on _âme_ en Anglais, Beel?"

"Soul," Bill supplied quietly, his eyes on his wife. She nodded and gave him a small smile.

"Oui, it is the soul that calls to its other half to be completed," Fleur said firmly.

"Although there have been a few cases where there were multiple mates," Bill informed Harry who rolled his eyes. That would be _his_ luck, Harry thought darkly. If it were a thousand to one probability — it would happen to him.

"That's not even funny, Bill," Harry said flatly. Bill shrugged.

"It's the truth, Harry," the older man said mildly.


	2. Fade far away, dissolve & quite forget

_A/N: Veelas are fairly open to interpretation, but the HP wikis mention that Veela are similar to Sirens and JKR (in GoF) has them transform into some sort of bird-like creature. So I've tried to incorporate bird-like characteristics whenever a character's Veela nature is close to the surface._

* * *

_The hallways seemed to stretch on forever and he could feel a sense of irritation as he wandered through them. It wasn't amusing at all and his mate should know better than to tease him like this. He had been looking and looking for her, and he was in no mood to play games. He was going to lecture her about it just as soon as he found her. He paused momentarily. Her? His mate was a female then? Joy washed over him. At last! After waiting and hoping, she was making herself known to him. He saw a flash out of the corner of his eye and whirled, but the hallway was empty again. He roared his frustration at his mate's games. _

"_Mate!" He bellowed. _

_There was that teasing flash of _something_ and he whirled even faster. His hand whipped out and he grabbed at her. She gave a cry of pain as his claws dug into the tender flesh of her upper arm and he immediately retracted his claws. He did not, however, let go of her. He would never let go of her, not now that he'd found her. Her great blue eyes stared up at him in accusation and he growled at her. She was his and she might as well get used to that now. _

"_You hurt me," she accused in a mellifluous voice that made heat pool in his groin. _

"_You were trying to hide from me, mate," he growled at her. Why would she run? Perhaps she was trying to reject him. He panicked at that and his fingers flexed on her arm. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He didn't have proof that she was rejecting him. Father had said that it must be a formal rejection. _

_She blinked in surprise, those wide eyes innocent. _

"_Hide from you?" She said in surprise. "Why would I hide from you?"_

"_Why did you not come when I called you?" He demanded. _

_She frowned, her full lips pouting, and he restrained the urge to crush her against his chest and plunder her mouth._

"_I did not hear you call me," she said slowly, confusion in her face. He paused, uncertain. Could that be true? Did she not hear him? How could she not hear him?_

"_But I did," he protested. She shook her head. He felt the urge to be close to her, to taste her, rising within him again. _

"_I didn't hear you," she insisted. He sighed and pulled her closer, up against his chest. _

"_Mate, you will cease arguing and kiss me," he informed her haughtily. She looked at him curiously. _

"_What?" She said with a small frown. _

_He made a growling rumble in his throat and leaned down to kiss her anyway. She was his, _his_ mate, and she _would_ stop arguing about it this instant. She would not reject him. She could not. He crushed her against his chest, the need to claim her riding him hard. She made a halfhearted mewl of protest that melted into a small moan. Her arms went about his neck and she clung to him as he kissed her. He pulled back and frowned at her. _

"_You are mine, mate," he said firmly, daring her to argue with him again. Her eyes were unfocussed and glazed with lust, her full lips parted. _

"_Yours," she whispered in agreement. She was _accepting_ him! A rumbling, purring noise began to emanate from his chest as he nuzzled his mate. _

Draco sat bolt upright, sweat coating his skin, his chest heaving. The dreams had begun when he'd come back to Hogwarts. He had owled his parents immediately and they had told him that his mate was probably somewhere in the castle. He'd been waiting patiently for over a year—ever since his seventeenth birthday last June—but his mate had not appeared. He'd thought that perhaps he or she was not at Hogwarts, but now it appeared as though his mate was definitely a 'she' and she was _here_.

The whole situation was a confusing muddle, and he did not like confusing muddles. Draco liked things to be clear and logical. As Head Boy, he patrolled Hogwarts on a regular basis, always keeping his keen senses attuned to her, but he still felt no closer to finding her. The other details of the dream were always a little hazy, but those brilliant blue eyes were burned into his very soul.

Considering his luck lately, he'd had a brief panic attack that it might be Granger, but his mate had eyes of the deepest sapphire blue and Granger's were brown. That and the fact that they shared a common room and hadn't had any issues; he'd even brushed his hand against hers to make doubly sure. One couldn't be too careful about things like that and it would be just his luck anyhow.

He glanced at the time and sighed. He might as well get up. He headed to the shower and then pulled on his clothes. He wandered out to the common area, his robe slung over his arm, to see that Weasel and Potty had joined Granger. It was entirely too early in the morning for him to deal with the Golden Fucking Trio. He hadn't even had his coffee yet. He growled irritably at Granger and Weasel and Potty seemed offended on her behalf, but Granger, the miserable Muggle-born baggage, just laughed at him.

"Oh, don't mind Malfoy; he just hasn't had his coffee yet," Granger informed the other two. Malfoy snorted under his breath and grabbed his book bag. Sharing rooms with Granger had actually made him respect the bossy little swot. She wasn't bad… for a Gryffindor. She turned back to Potter. "So you've been having dreams every night, Harry? What are they like?"

"Dunno, it's hard to remember them sometimes," Potter said with a frown as he tried to recall the pertinent details for his friend. "Um, usually I'm walking through a series of hallways and I can only catch her out of the corner of my eye. I've gotten the impression of blue eyes, but that's it."

"_No_," Draco said flatly, his Veela's hackles rising with jealousy. He had waited too long, too _patiently_ for Harry Bloody Potter to come along and swoop up _his _mate. He was a Malfoy for Merlin's sake and he wouldn't stand for it! Potter and Granger turned to stare at him in surprise and Weasley frowned at him.

"No, what?" Weasley asked with that stupid-looking frown.

"She is mine," Draco snapped, his claws extending and his fangs popping out. He would not let his mate be taken from him before he'd even gotten a chance to meet her. He could not. Granger's eyes widened in shock and she made an _eep _of fear. Potter's green eyes narrowed on him and his own claws and fangs extended as a response to Draco's challenge.

"What do you mean?" Granger asked fearfully. Draco snarled at her and Potter growled back.

"I dream of _my_ blue-eyed mate," Draco growled at Potter. "I have since I've returned to Hogwarts. She is _my_ mate."

"Oh!" Granger squeaked, her eyes swivelling from Harry to Draco. Harry made a low growling noise in his chest.

"Then why is it that she is in my dreams as well?" Harry demanded, his own hackles starting to rise. The blue-eyed woman in his dreams was _his_ mate. Harry had been a little busy last year, but he had looked for his mate when he could. The blue-eyed woman was _his_ mate_;_ he knew it to be true. Hermione made another squeaking noise as they began to circle one another and they both paused and frowned at her.

"Harry, didn't Fleur tell you that multiple mates were a possibility," Hermione asked hurriedly once she realized that she had their attention, "and didn't you say that it would be just your luck for you to be stuck with multiple mates?"

"I did," Harry replied slowly, his voice slightly less rough. Why did the Fates hate him? _Why?_ He couldn't remember ever doing anything that should make them hate him like this, and still they loved to give him a good kick in the teeth on a regular basis.

Draco frowned and glared from Granger to Potter.

"Multiple mates?" Draco repeated, a sour expression twisting his features. Granger nodded earnestly and Draco wanted to smack her. The blue-eyed witch was _his_ mate. She had kissed him back! She had acknowledged that she was his! He would be damned if he would share her with Harry Bloody Potter!

"It's possible," Granger said eagerly. "Floo your parents, Malfoy. Ask for their opinion."

"So, they're _both_ Veela?" Weasley asked slowly looking between Draco and Harry. Granger turned away slightly so that she could roll her eyes, and Draco stifled the sharp laugh that wanted to fly out of him.

"Yes, Ron, they are both Veela," Granger said far more patiently than Draco would have done.

"Did you know?" Weasley asked with a frown. Granger sighed and put her hands on her hips.

"Well, I knew about Harry, of course," Granger said tartly. Weasley had the grace to flush.

"Well, yeah, but what about _him_," Weasley asked darkly, gesturing toward Draco who growled at him.

"I did not know about _Malfoy_," Hermione snapped. "However, as I am not a close friend of his, it's hardly as though he's going to sit around telling me his deepest secrets, is it?"

"I suppose not," Weasley muttered reluctantly. Draco snorted and stalked to the door. He turned to glare at Potter over his shoulder.

"I shall speak to Headmistress McGonagall about using her floo," he said icily turning his attention to Hermione. She gave him a small, gracious nod. He paused and frowned at her. "Where did you learn to nod like that that?"

"Oh, er, Millicent Bulstrode," Hermione said with a shrug. When Potter and Weasley stared at her as though she were crazy she gestured helplessly. "You remember, Ron, I sat with her for a bit on the train. She does that. I figured it was a pureblood thing."

"It is," Weasley and Draco said at the same time. They glared at one another.

"Very well," Potter muttered. "Floo your parents. Please see if they'd be willing to speak with me as well."

"I will," Draco said coolly.

/\/\/\/\/\

Strange half dreams were driving Millie mad. She would awaken, clutching her blankets and not remembering even the smallest scrap — save for a feeling that she was searching for something. She could recall endless empty hallways and _looking _for… what? She rubbed at her temples and frowned fretfully. Classes had begun and she had found that with her heightened Veela senses taking meals in the Great Hall was almost painful. The surplus of information her overloaded senses were trying to process ended up a cacophony of noise and an overwhelming odoriferous onslaught that assaulted her nose. Even her eyes hurt as they picked up tiny details she had never noticed before. She ended up sitting at the very end of the table, as far from anyone else as she possibly could. Pansy plopped down across from her with careless grace.

"Millie, are you feeling all right?" Pansy asked with genuine concern. Her best friend was pale and wan and dark shadows made her eyes look dull. Millicent smiled faintly.

"Just a bit under the weather," she said softly. Pansy frowned. Millicent looked ill and normally her friend was disgustingly healthy. Millie was never sick.

"Bulstrode, Parkinson," Blaise Zabini spoke politely to both of them. Millicent gave him a small nod and then turned back to her meal. She did not notice the glance that Draco Malfoy shot in her direction.

"Bulstrode, Parkinson," Malfoy echoed his friend. Millicent glanced in his direction and gave him a small nod. He stared at her for a moment, frowning and then nodded back. He had felt some sort of muted something, but he couldn't figure out what it was. It was almost as though he were hearing something underwater—it had that same muted, distorted quality to it.

"So, Millie, how was your summer?" Pansy asked curiously. Millicent stiffened and stared at her plate. _Oh, you know, I found out I had a creature inheritance and that my parents had been dosing me silly with suppressants. I think I might be dying. You?_

"Uneventful," she said finally, as quietly as possible. She had noticed that people tended to react oddly once they heard her voice. Pansy pouted at her.

"No summer boyfriends?" Pansy teased gently. Her best friend from the time she was in nappies, Pansy was never mean or cruel about boyfriends. She honestly hoped that somebody somewhere would finally be smart enough to see what a wonderful person Millicent Bulstrode was on the inside. _Fat chance of that,_ Millicent thought miserably. Zabini snorted in amusement and Goyle, sitting across from him, guffawed.

"'Millicent' and 'boyfriend' don't go in the same sentence," Goyle chortled. Millie ignored him. Outwardly, she was perfectly calm and regal-looking. She looked at her plate, ignoring the muffled snickers. She took a breath and a strange scent assaulted her senses. A wave of dizziness swamped her and her stomach clenched uncomfortably. Her equilibrium tilted wildly and she felt nauseated. She stood up.

"You know Pansy, I think I'll visit the Infirmary," Millicent said softly. She rose gracefully and left the hall. She didn't see the vicious glare Pansy directed at Goyle.

Later, when she was done visiting Madam Pomfrey, she left the infirmary and bumped right into Hermione Granger. Silently cursing her luck, she bent down and helped the other girl pick up her things. Since her embarrassing behaviour back in second year, Millicent had done her level best to avoid Hermione Granger and by extension the Golden Trio and most Gryffindors. Now she was face to face with the girl and she steeled herself for the exchange.

"I beg your pardon," Millicent said softly. "I'm afraid I've been feeling unwell, hence my visit to the Infirmary."

"Oh, Hermione's always mowing down the innocent and unsuspecting," Weasley told Millicent with a bored shrug.

Millicent looked at him sharply. Any pureblooded boy worth his salt would have helped the Granger girl pick up her things. A gentleman helped any lady in distress, and a gentleman treated every woman within his sphere of influence as a lady. She knew that the Weasleys were blood traitors, but she'd never thought that that meant they had no breeding whatsoever. Her sharp hearing picked up the things that the Granger girl was muttering under her breath and in her weakened state Millicent was unable to stifle the giggle that escaped her. Granger's eyes shot to hers in surprise and then she smiled back hesitantly.

"You'll have to forgive Ron," Granger said under her breath, "he was raised by wild animals."

"Surely not," Millicent said back as quietly as she could. "Most of them have better manners."

Both girls looked at one another and then smiled. Granger looked surprised to be associating with her in such a friendly manner. Millicent wasn't surprised. The only interaction they'd ever had was their second year, which mother preferred to call her 'awkward period.' Granger had inadvertently made a comment that insulted Millicent's family, or at least that was the way she had perceived it. Her response had been less than ladylike, and her mother had given her a blistering lecture for it. She hadn't sent a Howler, or anything so base and common, but she had made her feelings regarding her daughter's behaviour quite clear regardless.

"Er, thank you," Granger said politely. Millicent shot a scathing glance towards Granger's companion and then turned her attention back to the Head Girl.

"When necessity forces ladies to rely upon themselves, said ladies need to stick together," Millicent said coolly. She gave a slightly deeper nod to Granger than she had previously and sailed past Weasley without any form of acknowledgement. Millicent was unaware of the thoughtful look in Hermione Granger's eyes as the Head Girl watched her move gracefully down the hall.

/\/\/\/\/\

"Merlin's pants! What are you _doing_?" Hermione shrieked, dropping her book bag and running to where Harry and Draco appeared to be having a knock-down, drag-out fight. Ron bellowed something and headed for Harry. Arms slid around her waist and pulled her back against a well-muscled chest. She automatically struggled and the arms tightened like steel bands around her. A strange feeling swept through her; she knew the owner of those arms on some strange instinctual level and she stopped struggling. She cringed away from the scene in front of her—Harry pulled back his fist and swung a punch that struck Draco in the kidneys. Before he'd even had a chance to intervene, Ron had been accidentally struck by a flying fist and was slumped on the floor against the wall.

"They will share the same mate; they must fight for dominance," a low, melodic voice said quietly by her ear, and her body automatically responded, relaxing slightly. _She knew that voice_. "You cannot interfere. Their Veela are too close to the surface and if one of them hurt you it could be quite bad. They would never forgive themselves, and neither would I."

An angry screech filled the air and Harry's wings snapped out. Draco spread his own wings, displaying them proudly and there was another screech. Hermione turned and hid her face in the chest, letting those arms come around her and cradle her protectively.

"It will be all right," that voice said soothingly. Hermione felt an irrational urge to trust the voice. "They will not try to kill one another because that might harm their mate."

"Are you sure?" Hermione's question was muffled by robes. A dry chuckle rumbled through the chest she was pressed against.

"Very sure, little one," the voice soothed. If anyone else had dared to call her by such an endearment, she would have his ears back, but not _him_.

Hermione relaxed and let those arms comfort her. Perhaps it was a sign of weakness, but she didn't care. It was too painful for her to watch Harry risk himself that way. Especially after the year they'd just had and how close he really had come to dying. She shuddered every time she heard a screech or heard a particularly brutal-sounding punch. Gentle hands stroked her back in soothing motions and Hermione felt herself calm down almost against her will. She pulled back to look up at the person holding her. Blaise Zabini was regarding her with an intensity she'd never seen on anyone's face before. Her jaw dropped open and she stared. He chuckled at her and placed a gentle finger under her chin, closing her mouth.

"You look very surprised," he purred at her. She blinked and then frowned up at him. "Do you tell me that you do not feel it? The connection between us has been calling me for weeks, little one."

"Why are you calling me that?" She demanded. He smiled at her fondly.

"Because you are," he said simply.

"You're one, too, aren't you?" She asked sharply, frowning up at him. Certain facts were clicking into place and she wasn't sure that she liked the picture they made. "How many of you are there here at Hogwarts?"

"Not as many as you might suppose," Blaise replied carefully. "Remember, we must wait to come into our inheritances, so really it is only the seventh years—and we who are repeating our seventh year around whom one must be careful."

"Are they done yet?" Hermione asked quietly.

"Not quite," Blaise said drily and another screech rent the air. "Truly, little one, it is better that this happens now. If it were to happen after they found her, whoever she is, she might panic or become distressed and then they would lose focus and someone might be seriously injured."

"If you say so," Hermione said doubtfully, peeking up at him from under her lashes. _Why_ was Blaise Zabini affecting her this way? She had a horrible suspicion that she knew exactly why he was affecting her, but she didn't want to think about that. He chuckled again and his arms tightened about her.

"It is good that you are willing to defer to me in such matters," he said in a pleased voice. "It will make our life together that much easier."

"Our life together?" Hermione echoed faintly, her face losing colour. He couldn't be! _She _couldn't be!

"Of course. You are my mate, little one, and we will spend our lives together," Blaise said firmly. Hermione snorted in amusement and tried to move out of the circle of his arms. He frowned down at her.

"That's not funny, Zabini. Let me go," she snapped coolly. The frown grew darker and an uncertain look entered those intense eyes.

"You are rejecting me?" He asked quietly and there was a wealth of meaning in those words and his voice sounded unbearably sad. Hermione's eyes widened in shock.

She glanced toward Harry and bit her lip. He was a Veela — what if his mate rejected _him_? He'd die. She'd read about mate rejection in several different volumes that Fleur had graciously lent to Harry. She had gotten to know Blaise Zabini in a much more intimate way because he was Malfoy's best friend and a frequent guest in the Head Boy and Girl's common area. He was an intelligent, warm, deadly attractive man. He had been polite with a slight flirtiness in his interactions with her this year.

In the privacy of her own mind, she acknowledged the fact that she had liked him, and had been drawn to him since the beginning of the school year. She looked up at the tall Slytherin in front of her. He had immediately released her upon her protestation and there was a pained look to his face. There was a sadness and shame that made Hermione immediately feel guilty, knowing that she'd put that look there. She reached out and grabbed his hand.

"No," she said firmly. She didn't want Blaise to die. The mere idea made her heart ache in her chest, but she ignored what that might mean for the moment. The pained look wavered slightly, but those beautiful eyes were watching her warily. She took a deep breath. "I — this is all very new to me. I'm sorry. I just — oh! Are you sure you want _me_?"

"Very sure, little one," Blaise said quietly, watching her carefully. "You are the one, I feel it."

"Then I suppose I have to stop calling you 'Zabini,'" she said thoughtfully. He didn't smile, but remained wary. Guilt ate at Hermione. She smiled nervously up at him and tried to think of a way to show him that she liked him and could maybe, possibly consider this whole Veela mate thing. She scrambled through her mind and finally hit upon something that might work. She looked up at him again. "You startled me, Blaise. I had no idea that you were even Veela, let alone that your Veela would choose me."

"There is no choosing," he said slowly, but she had seen the wariness leave his eyes when she spoke to him. He pulled her back into his arms and cupped her face with one large hand. "It is _fato, destino_. You are mine and I am yours." He smiled then. "Besides, you are Hermione Granger."

"Yes, well… " Hermione trailed off helplessly. What could she say to that?

He watched her solemnly for a moment and then lowered his lips to hers. Hermione had only been kissed a few times, but none of those kisses compared to _this_. Blaise's lips moved over hers and the world seemed to tilt around her. She wound her arms around his neck and kissed him back enthusiastically.

"In case you were wondering," Harry said sarcastically several moments later. "I've just kicked Malfoy's arse three ways from Sunday."

"Oh!" Hermione pulled away from Blaise who growled at her attempt to leave his side. She huffed at him and still tried to wriggle free. "Blaise, stop it! I'm not leaving; I'm just trying to act like a lady."

"One is either a lady, or one is not," Malfoy observed from the floor of the common room. Blaise hissed at Draco in displeasure for the implied slight to his mate. Harry growled at Draco and Malfoy made a strange whinging noise in the back of his throat. Hermione looked startled by the noise and Harry shot her an apologetic look.

"Sorry about that. It'll probably keep happening for the next week or so, I think," Harry explained.

"He is correct, little one," Blaise informed her. "Potter must set the boundaries of their relationship and Draco must submit to him. The Veela mateship is usually made up of a submissive mate and a dominant mate. In this case, there are two dominants so they must establish a sense of order. Who will make decisions in a crisis? It is a necessary thing, and you will not interfere."

"Is that an order?" Hermione sounded incensed and a fiery light had entered her eyes.

Blaise sighed. "One could hope that one need not order one's mate to do every little thing," Blaise observed to the room at large.

Hermione sniffed. "I wasn't going to interfere," Hermione said stiffly. All three Veela felt it best not to comment.

/\/\/\/\/\

The subject of "Hermione Granger, Veela Mate,' was met with a less than enthusiastic reception by Ron. He had known that he and Hermione just weren't going to work out — they had broken up over the summer — but he still didn't care for the idea of her with some slimy Slytherin bastard. It did not help matters that Zabini was insisting that his mate spend time with him. Hermione had argued, saying that she had friends and she was going to eat with them. Harry had tried to explain that physical proximity was important to the Veela, that it helped reinforce that she was accepting him. Hermione wavered slightly, but several snide comments from Ron made her feel guilty and she ate alone at the Gryffindor table. It was not well done of Ron to look directly at the Slytherin table and smirk at Zabini.

The sight of Blaise Zabini marching over to the Gryffindor table, a determined glint in his eyes, grabbing Hermione Granger and dragging the startled, protesting girl to the Slytherin table was one that stayed in the minds of the students for days. Within a week, it became normal to see her seated at Zabini's side, eating her meal quietly, although quite a few students noted that Granger made Zabini eat at the Gryffindor table several times a week as well. Few were surprised when Potter took occasional meals with Granger — she was his best friend after all — and he was one of the few that Zabini could tolerate sitting next to his mate, although Potter was usually careful to leave several inches between them.

Wednesday afternoon found them sitting at the Slytherin table.

"Millie's ill again," Pansy Parkinson said as she sat down. Daphne Greengrass and Tracy Davis made polite noises. Hermione was getting better at reading Slytherins' faces and she realized that Parkinson was really worried.

"Who is Millie?" She asked curiously. Usually at meals taken at the Slytherin table she avoided speaking to anyone, which Blaise didn't mind at all because his Veela was still uncertain and jealous. Parkinson looked up at her in surprise.

"Millicent Bulstrode," Blaise explained to his mate. Hermione made a small noise of understanding and turned back to Parkinson.

"Is it, er, do wizards _have_ chronic ailments like asthma or epilepsy?" Hermione asked as politely as she could. Parkinson shook her head.

"Not usually, unless it's some sort of curse. No, there's something really wrong with Millie. She just keeps getting sicker and sicker. She says her mother and father are worried and they've talked about pulling her out of school," Parkinson said quietly, her jaw tight. Goyle and Crabbe muttered something under their breath at one another and they snickered. Parkinson glared at the both of them.

"Blaise, would you escort Parkinson and me up to the Infirmary to visit Millie after breakfast?" Hermione asked cautiously. Blaise chewed for a moment, swallowed, and nodded at her.

"Of course, little one, but I did not realize that you were so well-acquainted with Bulstrode," he replied.

She glanced at Parkinson's pale, pinched face.

"Well, we aren't close or anything, but she's been quite polite to me this year. I think we are on our way to polite acquaintances at least," Hermione said truthfully.

"Millie is always polite," Parkinson said a little coolly.

Harry snorted.

"Except that time in second year when I had to pull her off of Hermione," he said flatly.

Blaise frowned and so did Parkinson.

"Granger had insulted her family name," Parkinson said stiffly. Hermione frowned back at Parkinson.

"I would never–," Hermione began heatedly and Parkinson cut her off with a gesture.

"You said that you had had a classmate at your Muggle school named Bulstrode and asked if they were _relatives_," Parkinson said flatly.

Hermione's eyes widened in understanding.

"Well, yes, but–," Hermione began again.

"Little one, you implied that she had Muggle relations in front of her House," Blaise said quietly. Hermione frowned at him, her brows drawing together to create a deep furrow in her brow. She stood up abruptly. Blaise rose as if to follow her, but his mate's icy glare froze him where he stood.

"I'm going to the loo," she said in a stiff voice. She moved so that his touch could not reach her and she stalked out of the hall. Harry rose to his feet and followed after her silently, not looking at the other boy. By the tension in his shoulders it was easy to see that he was angry. Blaise stood there, staring after them for several moments while his Veela argued with him about whether or not it would be acceptable to follow his mate. He turned to Parkinson who looked confused. Finally, he sighed and sat back down. He would discover what was wrong later, when there weren't so many prying eyes.

It was obvious that Hermione had no intention of actually going to the loo, so Harry did not feel at all odd following after her. She was headed straight to the infirmary if he was any judge. He followed behind her, his hands stuffed in his pockets, making sure that no one came too close to her or tried to hurt her. Being a Veela made everything different, but protecting his best friend was still the same. Of course, Zabini — _Blaise _— was extremely possessive and protective of Hermione because she had only just agreed to let him court her, and he would probably have a fit if Hermione were wandering the corridors unattended. He didn't like Harry anywhere near Hermione, but that was just too damn bad, especially when he'd just _insulted_ Hermione and the angry, upset girl was stalking down the hall.

He leaned against the wall and waited patiently for Hermione to come out of the Infirmary. He didn't want to spend any more time in there than he needed to, and he practically had his own reserved hospital bed as it was.


End file.
